Truth, Pride, Heart
by DorkyColaGeek730
Summary: Ian Skittery Welsh must adjust to his new life in Jersey. Rating will probably go up because of language. [future Snittery] [some Sprace] Chapter 3 now up Skitts meets the fellas.
1. Default Chapter

**Disclaimer:** Dude, don't own 'em. At all. There is much cursing and implied boy love (the actual boy love comes later DUN DUN DUN) so if you don't like it, shuffle off.

**A/N:** Just a brief author's note to say "Yo," "Review plzkthnx," and other stuff I can't remember. This is my first posted fic EVER (OMG) so yeah. Bit apprehensive. Anyway, the point of view jumps around a bit, I know it's confusing but that's just the way it works. Ha. Ahem Okay I'm done. Enjoy.

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**_Truth, Pride, Heart_**

Jack Kelly lounged casually in his seat, watching with mild interest as his English teacher swept a new student to the front of the room.

The kid stood (or rather, fidgeted) awkwardly as Mrs. Bracket attempted to hush the talkative class. He was a thin, gawky-looking teen with long, lanky limbs and too many layers of clothing for the day's weather. A black KISS T-shirt peeked out from under his wrinkled button-up shirt, and he was wearing a heavy pair of jeans despite the intense heat of the September afternoon. Clutching his notebook in his left hand and repeatedly readjusting his backpack strap with the other, he looked absolutely mortified that this ancient woman was keeping up there for so long. When they weren't focused intently on the floor, his deep, dark brown eyes darted around the room as though he was looking for a quick exit, and every so often he'd run a hand through his chestnutty hair out of nervous habit. He didn't seem to stand still for more than a few seconds at a time.

Mrs. Bracket was having one hell of a time getting the class to shut up. She finally accepted that they wouldn't get any quieter than a dull roar and introduced the boy, though half the class wasn't listening.

"All right, ladies and gentlemen!" Still the same amount of noise. She continued anyway, placing a gnarled (and clearly unwelcome) hand on the boy's shoulder. "This is Ian Welsh. He and his family just moved from Iowa. I'm sure you will do your best to make sure Ian feels right at home here in New Jersey."

Ian looked as though he was going to make a break for the door.

Mrs. Becket gestured toward the rows of desks in which Jack was currently sitting, and Ian quickly shuffled to the empty seat directly in front of Jack. Dropping into the chair as though he wanted to disappear, he took out his pen and opened his notebook (which was covered in band stickers and song lyrics), and prepared to jot down the notes that Mrs. Bracket was currently scribbling on the chalkboard.

Jack smiled to himself. This kid could be ... interesting, perhaps even worth associating with. He twisted his neck to determine if any of his friends felt the same way.

He first met eyes with Anthony Higgins, who seemed to be busy opening and closing a silver cigarette lighter. However, he certainly had been paying attention and shared Jack's sentiments, grinning as he glanced his way. He also flashed a large, mahogany cigar out of the breast pocket of his leather jacket (worn in this heat only so that he might intimidate) and gave Jack a mischievous nod.

Jack then turned to the boy directly behind him, Joseph Caruso. He was chewing casually on his ballpoint pen as Jack raised an eyebrow in reference to Ian. A lock of his slightly curly, dark brown hair fell across his forehead, and Joe shook it out of his face as he smiled at Jack, understanding his intentions perfectly.

A turn in the other direction gave him Alex Johnson, who was leaning forward on the desk, propped up on his elbows with his feet curled up underneath him. He grinned and wiggled his brows, his right eye blue and bright with amusement, the other, as usual, covered by his eye patch.

The decision seemed to be unanimous: They would go after this Ian kid ... that is, if he met their standards and didn't turn out to be some sort of whack job.

Jack scooted his desk forward, closer to Ian's. "Hey," he whispered. Ian barely turned his head in acknowledgement. "Hey, what's your name, kid?"

Ian turned his head a bit more and frowned -- this guy was asking for the same information that had just humiliated him in front of the class. However, he answered anyway ... he was a bit of a push-over. "Ian. Ian Welsh."

The guys snickered and Jack rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I got that much, _Ian._ I meant your real name," he paused and fixed Ian with a pregnant stare, "what your friends call you."

Ah-ha. So _that's_ what he's up to, thought Ian. They were all members of the Underground and Jack wanted to know if he was, too. Luckily knew the appropriate response to Jack's question and turned all the way around to face him. "My real name is known only by those that carry the Banner. My _brothers_, not my friends." He couldn't help but feel a little proud of the fact that he was in the Underground at that moment. It made him feel ... at home, as though for that brief moment, he wasn't in a strange, new city anymore.

The three behind Jack shared a few impressed looks with each other. Jack, however,

continued to interrogate; it wasn't as though he didn't _trust_ Ian, but there was a difference between knowing the answer and being a true member. He could think of a few times when he'd gone into the city and met guys claiming to be members. They'd know the correct retort but then when it came right down to proving themselves, they'd turn out to be frauds, disgracing the very principles the Underground was based on. So to Jack (and really, to everyone else) it was hardly worth knowing this new kid if he was only screwing around with them about carrying the Banner.

"And do _you_ carry the Banner, Ian?"

Ian frowned again. Members weren't usually so cold when greeting one another, but he could only assume that things were different here in New Jersey and that's just how it was. He hesitated for a moment, suddenly remembering warnings about city kids who falsely went around acting like they were in the Underground. You didn't reveal your name or any information about the Underground to them, and you certainly didn't show them the Banner. Although, Jack seemed downright suspicious of him, which Ian took as a good sign (ironic as it was). So, with only the slightest bit of caution and a whole lot of resignation, Ian spun to face the chalkboard and lowered the collar of his button up shirt to reveal the back of his tanned neck. Just at the base was the Banner, inked in plain black letters, reading _"Truth, Pride, Heart."_

Jack let out a loud, awed whistle, causing Mrs. Bracket to pause briefly. "Jack, do you have something you'd like to say?" she asked, hardly taking her attention away from her task. Ian quickly pulled his collar back up as Jack answered.

"Just that I can't wait to hear your beautiful voice start to teach, Mrs. Bracket," he said smoothly. She shook her head, muttering to herself, and continued her slow scrawl across the board. Jack grinned smugly and went back to interrogating Ian. "So, Ian, how do you like Jersey, huh? Being right across the river from the city and everything ... bet it's a lot different from Idaho."

Ian frowned slightly. "Iowa," he corrected.

Jack chuckled, leaning back in his seat and looking at his friends, as if to say _Can you believe this kid? _before continuing with a dismissive wave of his hand, "Yeah, pardon me, Iowa."

Ian scowled. He _hated_ being patronized. "Yeah. It's different," he said moodily.

"Like how? You live on a farm or something?" asked the kid sitting to Jack's left. Boy, did he have a strong accent. He glanced around as though checking for eavesdroppers, and lowered his voice as he leaned in, looking very serious. "Say, you uh ... you ever milk a cow?"

They laughed. Ian was getting even more pissed off.

"Yeah, actually, I have."

The boy with the eye patch on the other side of Jack spoke up. "Was it like in _Field of Dreams_? With whispering cornfields and shit like that?"

The one with the heavy accent chimed in again. _"If you milk it, they will come,"_ he said, imitating the mysterious voice from the film.

That really broke them up. The kid with the patch had to clamp his hand over his mouth to contain the howl of laughter threatening to escape. Jack chortled loudly, though he tried to stifle it, and the quiet boy behind him nearly choked on his pen (which he hadn't stopped chewing since Ian arrived) as he abruptly began laughing.

Ian frowned again and turned around. What a bunch of dicks. He certainly wasn't enjoying this laughter at his expense, and although so far no one else in the room had even thrown a glance his way, he didn't feel like being targeted for being the new kid. He understood that this was why they were cracking jokes and ragging on him, but it irked him nonetheless. This was a big damned school, he had to be able to find some better people to hang around with - maybe even more Underground members. If the three in the back were members, too (not just Jack), that already made twice as many as he had known in Iowa, so there had to be others around. However, the more he thought about it, he realized that if there were, they probably ran with these asses and were bound to be just as irritating.

That was unfortunate.

Thus far, there hadn't been much about his day that_ was_ fortunate. He had arrived late (walking to school in this town wasn't an option unless he had a death wish) only to be taken on a hasty and extremely unhelpful tour of the building. He had forgotten half the school rules and the entire floor plan as soon as he was dropped off at his first period classroom, which ended up being his least favorite subject - Math. It had been a riot watching the fresh-out-of-college teacher trying to get through her lesson, though, especially with some of the kids she had to deal with.

Second period had been gym class, which was ... well ... _gym_. And that was never very fun. Sure, Ian was spry and wiry and could run well if necessary (and by necessary, he meant for money or to save his own life), but any activity involving bodily contact or balls of any kind was lost on him. Seeing as today's game was a rather enthusiastic game of team handball where tackling and/or checking was encouraged, Ian made up a rather lame excuse to sit out and spent the period scribbling the words to "Bohemian Rhapsody" on his binder while watching from the sidelines. He suddenly remembered that one of Jack's friends had been there - the quiet one that was sitting behind him, gnawing on his pen. At the moment Ian half hoped his pen would explode and he'd get a mouth full of ink, but during gym, he didn't seem so bad: He had been sprawled out on the grass, loose curls catching the slight breeze, looking too distracted to even _think_ about participating in physical education.

Now he was sitting two seats behind Ian, chuckling quietly with the rest of them. Probably about him, too. Their continued whispering was unsettling, but Ian supposed that there was nothing he could do about it. He was the new kid, he was from one of the less commonly talked about states, and he carried the Banner - he probably gave them a lot to talk about. He did his best to ignore their conversation and pay attention to the English lesson, which happened to be on Emily Dickinson. Vomit. Ian couldn't stand poetry, but attempted to make it through the notes anyway.

About fifty minutes later (it felt like fifty _years_) when the bell rang signaling the change of classes, Ian gathered up his things to leave. He wasn't too keen on going through the This-Is-The-New-Kid-Please-Try-To-Make-Him-Feel-Welcome-But-Only-Make-Him-More-Uncomfortable routine again, so he took his time. Jack and his gang pushed past him through the aisle between the desks, Jack saying, "See ya around, Ian," and the boy with the patch ruffling his hair as he passed. The other two chuckled as they brushed by.

Ian sighed and moved on to his next class.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, kids.

**A/N: **Well, here it is, chapter two. Wheeeeee. Thanks to everyone who reviewed the first chapter, and my other fic "What To Do" - you guys made me feel OMGSOSPECIAL. :D Just a little note before we begin ... I hope no one is offended by BAD LANGUAGE or INSULTS ... because there are a lot. I got a little carried away with Sprace ... but damn! Is it fun writing bitchy!Spot! So, yeah. Don't say I didn't warn you. Heh.

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Ian felt as though he must have gotten lost at least four times before arriving at Creative Writing, his next class, though the room was still nearly empty when he got there. He had actually been looking forward to this period all morning, as it was the least sucky subject on his entire schedule. He walked in and showed his schedule to the teacher, who was listed on his paper simply as "STATELY."

Mr. Stately was young, somewhere near thirty years old, but exuded a strange sense of wisdom and maturity that Ian didn't quite know what to make of. Without even knowing how, Ian realized that he would prove to be one of those teachers only seen in goofy family movies, and yet, despite his laid-back attitude, you didn't ever screw him over. He certainly looked cooler than any of Ian's teachers back home - instead of a dress shirt and tie or dress shoes like the rest of the school's staff, he was wearing a huge hockey jersey and a pair of crimson Converse sneakers. He had dark, spiky hair, at least five ear piercings, and a genuinely kind smile, which he flashed as he handed back the paper.

"Good to have you in class, Ian," he said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Take a seat. Back corner, second seat from the windows and last one in the row, if you don't mind. Sean and Tony need someone new to talk to besides each other." Smiling still, he gestured to the seat and then busied himself with a stack of papers at his podium.

Ian couldn't help but grin to himself as he made his way to his desk. Mr. Stately was definitely cool, and his relaxed attitude and appearance made the whole new student thing much less awkward. That and the fact that he hadn't forced him into an embarassing class introduction, anyway. Ian collapsed into the chair and once again took out his notebook and a pen in case Mr. Stately began dictating notes when the period began. His inner geek didn't permit him to be unprepared for a lesson, but in the meantime he contented himself by mindlessly writing the lyrics to Van Halen's "Hot For Teacher" on a blank page near the back of his folder.

He got a few lines in before he realized how creepy that was and closed his notebook.

The bell rang in what sounded like an irritated tone and the class began to fill up. A familiar voice drew Ian's attention to the door - it was Jack's friend with the thick accent, enthusiastically singing the end of Disney's "When I See An Elephant Fly." Another student followed him in, gripping the boy's shoulder for support as he hiccupped with laughter. Mr. Stately watched them, amused.

"That was lovely, Tony,"

Tony grinned, giving a small bow. "Hiya, States! Did you see Dutchy's new hat? Makes his ears stick out a mile, I thought he was gonna' take off!"

The scrawny boy behind him clutched his stomach and let out a whooping laugh. He was pale, a bit freckled (but really, you could hardly tell - they were nearly as pale as he was) with dark hair and big blue eyes. Something about him told Ian that he was just the kind of kid to be running with Jack's crew. He wasn't sure if he should take that as a comforting thought.

Though still chuckling as he made his way down the aisle, the boy's mirth disappeared as he spotted Ian sitting at his desk. "Who are you?"

Tony noticed him as well as he sat in his own seat. "Ian! How ya' doing? You drive your tractor over here?"

Oh, good. More farm jokes.

The malnourished boy tore his eyes from Ian to now glare at Tony. "This your new boyfriend or something?"

"Down, boy," replied Tony, still grinning. He was significantly more personable and cheery now than he had been in English class. Last period seemed more about being callous and giving him a hard time ... or maybe that was just Jack. Actually, it _was_ just Jack being an asshole. The other guys were probably just being, well, guys.

Somehow all of this made Ian hate the fact that he was from a small town - he was an awful judge of character since he'd only really known a handful of people outside his community. He couldn't get over how much being the new kid in this situation _sucked._

"He's the new kid I told you about, stupid. Pop a squat," Tony said, motioning for the other (Ian assumed he must be the Sean Mr. Stately mentioned) to sit. Sean, however, remained standing and turned back to Ian with a malicious glint in his eye.

"What makes the new kid think he can sit back here with us? Does he think he's special or something?

Ian was getting very nervous under his gaze. Obviously, he was looking for a fight of some kind and (though he was probably a good seven or eight inches taller) Ian wasn't very keen on giving it to him. He shifted uneasily in his seat.

"I told him to sit there, Sean. Don't have a coronary, please," came Mr. Stately's distracted response from the front of the room. Ian could see that he was leafing through his papers carefully.

Sean's eyes narrowed as he finally sat down. "Why'd you tell the noob he could sit here?"

Mr. Stately wasn't really paying attention. "Sean, I never got your paper from last week. Did you ever hand it in?"

He blinked, then turned to Tony. "I thought you printed out my essay and handed it in for me?"

"Yeah, uh ... about that, Spot," he began, scratching the back of his neck and turning a bit pink. He looked even more ridiculous in his intimidating leather jacket when he was embarrassed, Ian noted. "I, uh, kind of dropped my stogie on it and it got a bit ... _singed_. So I tossed it."

Sean stared for a moment before reaching over and smacking him in the back of the head. "That was worth fifty points, you bum!"

Ian did his best to pretend he was invisible. For whatever reason, he felt increasingly torn - part of him wanted these strange kids to leave him the hell alone, while the rest of him desperately wanted to fit in with them and end the awkwardness of being the new kid. The camaraderie they seemed to have as a group was something Ian hadn't experienced at home, and, though he really, _really_ hated to admit it, he very much wanted to be a part of it. His experience with the Underground back in Iowa had been limited - the only members he knew were kids in Des Moines, and he only knew them over the internet. They had never met in person, and though common sense told him there must be more, they were the only others he actually knew existed in his state.

Now he was presented with at least for or five members he didn't particularly want to associate with.

Damn it.

A little nagging voice of reason in the back of his head said that he just had to get to know them and really needed to break free of his small-town state of mind. That little nagging voice also told him to be careful ... and that he could really use a sandwich right about now. His stomach growled in agreement, and Ian supposed that if that voice of reason was right about one thing, well ...

He glanced over at Sean and Tony, who were now immersed in a game of Knuckle Buster. Sean managed to crack Tony pretty hard, causing him to hiss sharply and clutch his fist to his chest as he exclaimed, _"Bitch!"_

Sean grinned smugly. "Bitch, my ass. Not my fault you're such a pussy, Race."

"Fuck you," grumbled Tony, nursing his sore hand.

"Maybe later," Sean snorted. He turned around and caught Ian watching the display. "You got a problem, noob?"

_Damn it!_

Ian was spared the embarrassment of stuttering a response by Mr. Stately calling to Sean again.

"Mr. Conlon? Your paper?" He wiggled a sheet of loose-leaf in the air for reference.

"I'll bring another copy in tomorrow, since this idiot can't do me a simple favor and ended up _destroying _mine."

Mr. Stately raised an eyebrow. "Do I even _want_ to know?"

Sean grinned. "Well, you see, States, Tony here was just _so_ in _love_ with my paper that he started jacking off to it. But all that friction created one hell of a spark and _poof!_ Torched my beautiful essay."

"Spot, I was too busy nailing your hot ass aunt to rub one out to that piece of shit you call an essay,"

"Boys," Mr. Stately warned.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Race, did you say something? I was just reliving the way your mom was crying out my name last night,"

"Boys," he warned again.

"If she was crying it was only because you've got such a small dick, _Spot,_"

_"Higgins! Conlon!"_ shouted Mr. Stately. "Your twisted sex lives need to stay private, thank you very much. And I hardly think you're helping Ian feel comfortable on his first day."

He must have noticed the wide-eyed way Ian was gaping at the two boys. But Jesus, how could he not have been gaping? When you've grown up in a town with 200 people, you just aren't used to this kind of banter. With 200 people, you were always cordial and laid back.

... Well, most of the time, anyway.

"Ah, don't worry about the noob, States," said Sean, turning around and clapping Ian on the bicep (though not exactly genially), "We'll make sure to include him on all our shenanigans!"

"I can't believe you just said the word 'shenanigans,' you Irish bastard," laughed Tony.

"Fuck you, guido," snapped Sean.

"Maybe later,"

"All right, all right," sighed the teacher, clearly finished dealing with the two of them. "Contrary to popular belief, we actually have work we need to get through this period. So, if you don't mind, everyone sit the hell down and shut the hell up." A few students on the other side of the room who had been sitting on top of their desks slid into their seats as the rest of the class quieted down. "Now, how far did we get yesterday?"

A student in the front answered, "We played cards and watched your old students' projects,"

Mr. Stately smiled. "Oh yeah. It was definitely too hot to work yesterday. However today, even though I know it's still a freaking oven in here, we've got things to go over. You've written your essay on why you took this class, so that's one assignment down. The next thing you'll have to do for me is a project about yourself. I have a few entertaining ones here for you to look at ..."

As Mr. Stately began going over the assignment, Ian felt himself relax. This class definitely wasn't going to suck, at least as far as the work went. He had always been comfortable with writing, particularly the creative kind, and as soon as this paper was out of the way, it was sure to be smooth sailing. As long as he could fudge the project and Sean and Tony didn't rock the boat, anyway.

The two had quieted down (or at least stopped their abrasive, half-joking argument) and were now whispering feverishly to each other, presumably about Ian, as their eyes kept darting in his direction. Ian tried to concentrate on the logistics of Stately's project, honest he did, but he caught the phrase "carrying the Banner" and all his hopes of absorbing anything Stately said vanished. This frantic, hissed conversation - out of which Ian could only pick out a few scattered words and phrases (damn their Jersey accents!) - went on for about ten solid minutes until Mr. Stately finally couldn't take it anymore.

_"Higgins! Conlon! _If you two could _kindly_ save whatever suggestive conversation you're having for _after_ class, I would be _more_ than happy to _not_ write you up!"

They shut up immediately. However as soon as the teacher began speaking again, Sean mumbled something to Tony that Ian couldn't quite catch. Tony, however, who seemed to hear it loud and clear, turned a very deep red and was suddenly extremely interested in the lesson at hand.

The rest of the period passed without incident. Mr. Stately called it quits about two minutes before the bell rang, and only briefly mentioned that the class had a new student. He gave Ian that genuine grin and asked, "Would you like to come up and say a few things about yourself?"

Ian blanched and shook his head quickly. "No, no. I can just wait until I present my project, thanks."

The teacher shrugged and moved to his desk, dropping into his creaky chair and asking the class not to get _too_ loud.

Mr. Stately was _awesome._

He noticed that the two boys were watching him. Tony was playing with his lighter again, looking cool and unaffected. Sean just looked pissed, but then again, Ian hadn't really seen any other emotion on him outside of smug satisfaction.

"So, Ian. You got lunch next period?" asked Tony. Ian nodded. Tony let his lighter close with a loud, metallic _click._ "You know where the football bleachers are?"

He thought for a minute and nodded. Their ever-so-wonderful game of handball during gym class had been near there, and the massive bleachers were pretty hard to miss. If this school ended up being one of those that lived, ate, and breathed football, the thought he may have to kill himself.

Tony stuck his lighter back in his pocket. "Meet us out there next period. Don't get lost."

The bell rang loudly and the class rose to leave. Sean, who was now standing next to the still-sitting Ian, glared down at him. "Yeah. Don't be late, noob." He started a few more seconds for good measure before following Tony up the aisle and giving his rear a rather loud slap as they exited.

Ian didn't quite know what to think of the day's events so far. Jack was maybe a jerk ... Tony was possibly not that bad ... Sean was a douche ... Tony and Sean together were really freaking bizarre. He had no idea what to expect next period. But hey, at least now he didn't have to worry about sitting alone at lunch.

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HOORAY! Now a few words for my reviewers because you guys made me HAPPYYY :) 

**Braids21: **LAURA! is glomped glomps back Yes it's here. And look! Chapter 2! I heart youuuu and I miss History class already :( TJORH anyone?

**littlewitch1899: **:D Yay! Here you go!

**Charlie Bird: **Ooo thanks so much! There are introductions next chapter, along with reasons for the nicknames, all according to Underground regulations, haha. (But yes, Joseph is Snitch ... I went back and realized I made everyone really obvious except him lol.) Thank you again! XD

**antiIRONY: **:) :) Thanks a bunch!

**Iambic Pentameter: **I'm glad you like it! And I LOVE LABYRINTH OMG. Bowie-as-Jareth is yummy. Heh, "You remind me of the babe ..." Now that's stuck in my head. Thanks again!

**ellaeternity: **Hullo LJ friend, heh. Don't worry, I'm really impressionable, too. Obsessed-with-music!Skittery is always the best kind, heh. I think I subconsciously modeled him after a friend of mine. Whups? LOL.

**Kid Blink's Dreamer: **Hehe ... and here's an update!

Next chapter - Lunchtime introductions with the boys!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **Don't own them but BOY. Do I wish I did. GUH.

**A/N: **WOOT for another chapter. GO ME. This is what comes from having no car and therefore hardly any social life. But it means things for you to read and stuff so, eh, silver lining. Anyway, today Ian joins the group! The next chapter will probably take a little while for me to post, because I actually have to write it as opposed to just typing it up from my notebook. So, myes. Warnings of foul language and Spot being a jerk! Insults-a-plenty!

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So. Here he was. On his way to eat lunch with Tony, Sean, and he didn't know who else. Maybe Jack and his friends, too. Ian hoped so. He wasn't sure how much one-on-one time (one-on-two?) he could take with Sean and Tony.

It was a long and hot walk to the bleachers, and while walking, Ian wolfed down his ham and cheese on whole wheat and his juicy, granny smith apple. Though his stomach was full, he still felt uneasy - he wouldn't have the distraction of a lesson to help him out now. It was going to be good (weird), quality time (hell?) with kids who just might end up being his only friends in Jersey (that or completely dismissing him and leaving him to the wolves).

Boy, he really hoped it went well.

The guys were enjoying the cool shade under the bleachers when Ian arrived. Tony and Sean were already present, as well as Jack and his crew, and one other kid that Ian didn't know. He was holding a ridiculous-looking bowler hat in his lap, however, so Ian assumed it was the boy Tony had mentioned last period. Jack, who had been sitting on a beam smoking the last of a cigarette, hopped down and tossed the butt aside.

"Well, well, Ian," he said jovially (though his sarcastic undertone could still be heard). "Nice of you to join us,"

Sean scowled as he approached. "You're late, noob. You have trouble finding the place?"

Ian tried to think of a witty retort, but he was never very good at that sort of thing. Luckily, he didn't have to respond - the boy with the bowler spoke up for him.

"Oh, quit being such a bitch, Spot," he grinned from his position among the bleacher beams. Though he was sitting slightly bunched up, Ian could tell he was tall, probably at least six foot. He had earlobe-length blonde hair and glasses, and he looked like a pretty nice guy (on top of the bonus points he got for sticking up for Ian, anyway). He popped the silly brown bowler back on his head, and Sean wasted no time in using it to his advantage.

"At least I have better fashion sense than you, you pathetic excuse for a queer."

"Hey, this is from Specs!"

Sean sneered, crossing his arms across his chest. "That reminds me. I also have a boyfriend who hasn't ditched me for a bunch of military babes."

The blonde's face quickly lost its mirth and he fixed Sean with a hard glare. "Fuck you, Sean." After a moment, he seemed to get over it and his expression softened. He leaned back, adjusting the hat. "Anyway, these babies are coming back into style, and when that happens, _all_ you bastards will be wanting one."

Sean scoffed and rolled his eyes, looking _very_ gay. Jack's friend that had been chewing on his pen during English snorted loudly. Tony stifled his laughter while Jack and the boy with the eye patch flat-out chuckled. Sean glared at all of them. _"What?"_

Tony grinned. "You are _so_ gay."

The corner of Sean's mouth twitched. "Yeah, look who's talking, Tiger." Tony's eyes widened and he shut up quickly, turning very red.

Wow. So ... Sean was gay. Seriously gay. Like, not the usual guys-joking-around-calling-each-other-names sort of thing, but he was really into guys. And so was the blonde. Wow. Ian didn't think he had ever been in the presence of more than one homosexual at a time ... and usually that one homo was himself. Now here he was with _two_ of them. Hell, probably three, if all Sean's innuendos about Tony were true. And (here was the real kicker) these guys had _boyfriends_. Guys to take them out on dates and cuddle and hold hands and do all kinds of things and ... wow.

All of the sudden, New Jersey felt like the center of some sort of sexual revolution compared to Iowa. Ian couldn't even fathom what it'd be like if he went into New York City.

Jack laughed, shaking his head at the display. He seemed to have lightened up a bit. "All right, all right. I think we've had enough of that. Now it's time to get to know our new friend Ian, here." He clapped him hard on the shoulder. Ian felt awkward.

"Yeah, Ian," said Tony, holding out a half-empty pack of cigarettes. "Pull up a smoke and relax."

Ian let his bookbag fall off his shoulder to the dusty ground and waved off the cigarettes. "Uh, no thanks. I, uh ... I quit." He was beginning to fidget again.

Tony shrugged, pulling one out and lighting it up with a flick of his silver lighter. He took a long drag and released it with a puff of smoke. Everyone was quiet and seemed to be expecting Ian to either give them his life story or wow them with some kind of Iowa magic trick. Ian didn't feel like doing either, but he figured he'd have to speak eventually, so he asked the first thing that came to mind.

"Do you all carry the Banner?"

It was like a lightbulb went on in the group. Everyone's expression changed to either surprise or a "whups, we forgot" sort of sheepish grin.

Jack seemed to be personally offended by his own forgetfulness. "Jeez, we ain't doing things right! We got a fellow member in our midst and here we are joking around like a bunch of asses. We gotta be true to the Underground and follow protocol or whatever." He approached Ian, spat in his own hand, and outstretched it.

Ian hesitated a moment, then did the same, their palms meeting with slightly moist-sounding slap. They then began their Underground introductions.

These introductions always began with a "spit shake" to represent their bond as brothers and their loyalty to each other as well as the Underground. The traditional shake had been one involving blood exchange (a cliched, taken-from-Hollywood ceremony where each member cut into his palm before shaking hands with another), however this practice was abandoned once the danger of infectious disease became an issue. The majority of the Underground's members may have been teenaged boys, but they certainly weren't stupid. And although slightly disgusting in its own right, this method was far safer.

The spit shake was then followed by each member stating his birth name and then his Underground, or "real" name. A brief explanation was given for the name, though any truly personal details were saved for later. While speaking, each member also showed the Banner, as proof of their membership and of their loyalty. Tradition called for the newest individual to a group to go last during the introductions, so Ian found himself waiting and taking in as much as he could as the boys spoke to him.

"The name's Jack Kelly, known to those that carry the Banner as 'Cowboy.'" Jack began, lifting up his right shirt sleeve to reveal the loopy script that read _Truth, Pride, Heart._ "I was born on a farm in Sante Fe, New Mexico. Lived there 'til I was four. One day, I'm going back."

Ian nodded as Jack gestured toward the blonde who had detangled himself from the bleachers. "This here is Chris Wilkovich,"

The teen also spat in his hand and shook Ian's. "'Dutchy,'" he said simply, turning slightly and raising his pant leg to show the tattoo on his left calf. "I'm Dutch. And I used to look like that little bastard from the paint containers."

Sean snickered, mumbling, "Yeah, and don't forget about how you stuck your fingers in the Dyke."

"I swear to God, Race, if you don't shut him the hell up -" Dutchy snapped, rounding on Sean.

Sean stepped forward, seemingly ready to make things physical."Oh, yeah? Yeah? What are you gonna do, huh?"

Dutchy stepped forward also, but Tony saw him and stepped between the two, dropping his cigarette in the dirt. He faced Sean and prepared to brace him by placing his hands on the teen's chest. "Okay, okay. Dutch, stop being such a pussy about that, all right? It's been three years," he said, over his shoulder. "And Spot, keep your mouth shut and stop being an asshole for once in your life."

Personally, Ian thought that "Asshole" might just be Sean's middle name.

Sean stared Dutchy down for a few more seconds before fixing his gaze on Race. They stared at each other for a minute (Dutchy walked away muttering "Jerkoff," as soon as Sean's attention waned) before Sean's expression changed almost imperceptibly. He didn't say anything, just went back to leaning against the bleachers, the same disgusted look on his face as always.

Sean Asshole Conlon had a very nice ring to it, Ian thought.

Tony turned to Ian, shaking his head before greeting him. "Anthony Higgins, also known as 'Racetrack' or just 'Race.' My uncle loved the horse races and used to take me along to the tracks with him." He undid the top of his button-up shirt (in a wise move, he had chosen to leave the leather jacket inside) and pulled down his shirt collar to show off his brand. The Banner had been inked on his chest, directly over his heart.

The kid with the eye patch, who had been sitting on the ground, hoisted himself up and walked over. Ian was glad to be able to finally get his name - thinking of him as "the kid with the eye patch" was starting to make him feel rude ... or at least politically incorrect. The boy grinned as he spat in his hand.

"Alex Johnson. You can call me 'Blink' like these bums do, but my real name is 'Kid Blink.' You can guess why they call me that," he said. With a mischievous smile, he lifted up his eye patch to reveal a very pale blue eye. His forwardness startled Ian, but he had to smile back as Blink closed his good eye, winking at him. He then turned around and pulled up his shirt to display his tattoo, which was located on his left shoulder blade. It seemed as though they all had done their best to each have the Banner in a different location on their body.

The pen-chewing boy with the dark, curly hair approached next. There was a quiet air about him - a thoughtful sort of detached demeanor, and though it seemed genuine, something about the way he carried himself made Ian think there was a lot more going on underneath. Ian hadn't heard him speak once all day, and when he finally did, spitting in his palm and extending his hand, his voice surprised Ian. It was deep in a way that hinted he was late in hitting puberty, as though it would still crack when he was excited or upset, but all the same had it an odd, velvety quality.

"You moved into the big yellow house on Larch, didn't you?" he asked. Ian nodded. "I live in the house behind you. I'm Joe Caruso. 'Snitch,'" He lifted his shirt and tugged down the waistband of his jeans to reveal his tattoo, which was just below and to the right of his navel. Ian felt himself flush slightly, and he felt his heart speed up a bit in his chest. That was quite the place for a tattoo.

Ian snapped back to reality (he realized that he had probably been staring) when Snitch let his T-shirt fall back into place. He didn't say anything about the origins of his name, so Jack took over for him. "Snitch here can steal anything without breaking a sweat ... and without getting caught."

Ian lifted an eyebrow. "Anything?"

_"Anything,"_ replied Snitch with pride in his voice. However, when Ian met his brown eyes, he found no pride whatsoever in them. If anything, there was a brief flicker of shame before Snitch abruptly looked away.

"Snitch here is a regular fucking klepto, aren't ya, Snitch?" said Sean with amusement.

Snitch flipped him off.

Ian glanced over at Sean. He was looking bitchy, but approached anyway, getting right up in Ian's face. "Before we make any introductions, noob, let's get a few things straight: I don't like new guys coming and weaseling their way in here. I don't know you and I don't trust you. So don't be thinking that just because we both carry the Banner, that you and I are gonna be chums, 'cause we ain't. Got it?"

Ian shrugged. "Yeah, sure thing," It wasn't as though he really wanted to humor Sean, he just didn't think he had the energy to do much else. His head was swimming with all the names and information he had tried to absorb, and besides, he had the feeling that the way to get Sean to stop being an asshole was just to go along with whatever he said. And boy, was he an asshole.

"Good," replied Sean. However, the smug look on his face told Ian that he thought he was a complete and total wimp. Ian didn't care at the moment. He spat in his palm and stuck it out for Sean to shake, which he finally (and forcefully) did. "Sean Conlon," he said, lifting his left pant leg to show the tattoo on his ankle. "I'm Irish and I've got a shitload of freckles, so I go by 'Spot.' Call me 'Spotty' and die," he finished, narrowing his eyes.

Race snickered. "You'll notice that Spotty here decided to put his Banner in the queerest possible place."

"Shut the fuck up, Racetrack!" Spot snapped.

Jack stepped over, waving his hands in the air for them to stop, but smiling. "All right you fellas, all right. Ian, would you care to introduce yourself to the group?"

Again, all the attention was on him, and as much as he appreciated Jack abandoning his attitude to include him, he couldn't help but feel uncomfortable again. He kicked at a tuft of grass and ran a hand through his hair before turning around and briefly revealing his mark again. "Uh, I'm Ian Welsh. My Underground brothers call me 'Skittery.'" He tugged at the bottom of his shirt and kicked at the grass again.

"Why do they call you Skittery? You like Skittles or something?" asked Dutchy.

"No, you dumbass, it's because he can't stand still!" said Snitch. Ian was surprised. People didn't usually make the connection right away, probably because he only encountered them online so they couldn't see him fidget. He caught Snitch's eyes, but looked away almost immediately.

"Yeah," he continued, not looking at the group. He scratched the back of his neck and then began playing with the buttons on his shirt. "I'm kind of always moving around, tapping my leg or something and it gets worse when I'm nervous or uncomfortable." He glanced down at his fiddling hands and dropped them to his sides.

"Well, Skittery," said Jack after a brief pause. "Welcome to New Jersey."

And he was Ian Welsh to them no more.

* * *

YAY FOR REVIEWERS!

**Braids21: **LOL Oh, the glompage:( History class -sheds a tear- I got a freakin' C on the final exam, WTF! Oh well. Hehe I'm glad you enjoy, and YES. THE TWO PARAGRAPHS OF RACE'S JOURNAL HAUNT MEEEEEE. I wake up at night in a cold sweat like, "HE'S LEAVING FOR COLLEGE OMG!" You so need to update, haha.

**littlewitch1899: **Haha, yeah, it's b/c they're totally in LURRRVEEE. Spot's the bitchiest newsie everrrr, I'm sure I'll give him his come-uppance. ;)

**antiIRONY: **LoL I love that you love! (And Spot and Race love, omg they're SO secretly gay lovers I have photographic proof) (Well, not really, but you know)

**newsiefreak9er9er: **Yay! I love making people laugh, I'm happy :) Spot and Race are totally weird. And the Underground? I haven't decided how I'll approach its explanation, but it'll come soon, I promise. ;)

**Kid Blink's Dreamer: **LOL YAY FOR THE LAUGHING! And yes, SO stupid. I luff them -squeezes them tightly-

**entropic order: **The invisible review? I got it. It came with cookies, right? And was delivered by a very nude Skittery? I mean, uhhh ... Hehe, more to come! Glad you like it! (Keep your head from exploding or you'll never knooooow!)

**lainie-d: **Two reviews for the price of one! LOL I'm glad you like it! ...pssst ... review again, hehe.


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